


Just Another Day in Paradise

by NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Do I really do much else?, F/M, I just automatically type "angst" into this bar, It's rare, Someone tell me how to classify this, no idea why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable/pseuds/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable
Summary: "Move in with me," she says.  But it's not exactly what either of them anticipated.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am so incredibly happy after that episode.  But because I’m me, I couldn’t get the dark side of “move in with me” out of my head.  So here goes!  I’d apologise but my soul is currently on vacation.
> 
> Title and theme inspired by the song by by Phil Vasser.

It’s a disaster.  It’s a huge mistake.

She never should have asked.  He never should have agreed.

He’s neat, to a fault.  Everything arranged just so, in its place, tidy and perfect with military precision.  She tries to smile about it, replace his toothbrush back in the proper angle in the holder, but it drives her crazy.

She’s messy, by default.  Everything strewn wherever she last used it, haphazard and careless.  He tries to straighten it for her, or grin through the mess, but it grates on him.

He’s everywhere, always around, always with her.  He’s helpful and cheerful and would do anything for her.  She thinks she’s going to scream, snap one day, demand her space back in a way he won’t understand.  It’s new, she tells herself.  It’s just so new.  She ignores the way her hand shakes as the fear of wasted time together coils deep in her gut.

She’s avoiding him, he knows, he always knows.  He tries to give her space, but he can’t bear to see her alone, doesn’t want her to think she has to face everything on her own.  He wants to help, chase off the demons that plague her, but she only seems to pull farther away, always close but where he still can’t reach her.  Her lips smile at him, but her eyes are filled with something else, and he’s afraid he’s losing her before he’s gotten a chance to really have her.

He doesn’t know how to do the most basic things.  At first it’s cute, learning to use the appliances in the house, what not to put in the microwave, or the oven, or the dishwasher.  He picks it up quickly, faster than she expected.  But every time she turns around, there’s something else, some nuance he doesn’t understand, some context he doesn’t have, and she’s tired, so very tired, of always being patient, always pretending it doesn’t wear at her just the slightest bit.

She’s snapping more, short tempered, and he’s trying his best to stay away, give her the space she seems to need.  He makes supper when she’s out saving the town, only burns the edge of a potholder, and it’s really not so bad.  But the way her nose crinkles when she comes in the house, her face falling as she takes in the charred edges, even though she brightens immediately after, a smile on her face and a forced light in her eyes that he’s come to find familiar, it’s not the same.  Something’s wrong and she’s not talking to him.  He hopes she’s talking to  _ someone _ , if she won’t with him.

He asks her one night, point blank and out of the blue, where she wants him when she’s running about town.  She doesn’t know what to say, hadn’t really considered it, always had him behind her even when she didn’t want it.  He waits, open and honest, to hear what she wants, to give her what she needs, always, always there even when he’s not.  She doesn’t want to break the temporary happiness they’ve carved out from the chaos, doesn’t want to let him down.  She smiles and lies and vows to hide it better.

She’s too cheerful, too easy, too happy.  He wants to believe it’s true, wants to bask in it, the sight of their jackets hanging beside each other in the closet, the easy way they move around each other in the kitchen, the way she lies against him on the couch.  It’s too easy, too simple, and he’s never been one to go that way.  He reads as much as he can, recommendations from the librarian on his ship, and comes up with a plan.

He puts it into action the next day, the next villain dispatched, the next story completed, the next person helped - everyone but her.  He burns the towel on purpose, sparks the microwave with foil, mixes a red sock into the bleach load in the machine that washes clothing.  He waits as it fills through her, watches the frustrations build like the sea before a storm.  He drops a plate, hovers over her, talks too much, too loud, too close for comfort.

She snaps at him, finally, finally, lashes out and yells at the mess, the ruined sweater they both know she can fix, the minor inconveniences bursting the dam she’d built inside her.  She cries, claims it was a mistake, all wrong, she shouldn’t have asked, they weren’t meant to be so close, weren’t meant to have no secrets.

“Talk to me,” he begs.  “I’ll do anything for you, just talk to me, love.”

“I can’t,” she whispers, tears blocking the green of her eyes, filling them with grey.  “I just can’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly, “not until you tell me why you’re so angry with me.”

She’s quiet, muffles soft cries he wishes he could erase from across the smoky kitchen.

“It’s not you,” she answers finally.  “It’s me.”

He waits, patient as ever, loving as always, her previous sharp words unable to dull what he’s felt for so long.  “Tell me.  Please.”

“I wanted you to be happy.”

“I am, love.”

“I wanted to be happy with you.”

“You can, Emma.”

Her words are barely a whisper, he doesn’t move as he strains to hear.  “I wanted something I’ll never have.”

“Why not?” he asks, hiding the pleading as best he can, knowing she’ll hear it anyway.  “Why can’t you be happy too?”

“Because…”  She bites her lip.  “Because I’ll only mess it up.”

There’s a lie in there, but also not, and he’s lost, but also not.  “You won’t,” he says, crossing the room at last.  He reaches out a tentative hand, asking permission before reaching for her chin.  Wet tears slip along his fingers, but he holds tight and doesn’t move.  Not again, never again.  “You deserve to be happy, love.  You deserve to have this.  Just please tell me how to make it work for you.”

He wants her happiness, he’ll do anything for her, she knows, she realises, she suddenly sees.  He doesn’t know about the vision, she doesn’t know how to tell him, or if she ever will.  It doesn’t matter, she understands, it doesn’t matter.  They can be happy now, for however long they have, if only she’ll let him in.

She’s fought so hard for all of them, given more than she ever should have been asked to give.  He sees the exhaustion in her eyes, the worry, the weight of the world, but also the fear he knows so well.  Not being enough, never being enough, despite everything she is and cannot see.  It doesn’t matter how long they have.  They can be happy now, for however long they have, if only he’ll let her know.

“Mess up your toothbrush a bit,” she says, a shy blush on her cheeks.

“Clean up your socks sometimes,” he retorts, a raised eyebrow at her request.

“Ask Henry some of your questions, not me,” she grins, leaning into his hand.

“Take off your muddy boots at the door,” he smiles, his fingers slipping in her hair.

“I don’t like oatmeal.”  She takes a step forward.

“Neither do I.”  He bends down closer.

“Give me some space sometimes,” she murmurs, her nose against his.

“Now?” he whispers, his breath on her lips.

She laughs into his mouth.  “Hell no.”

“Tell me when I mess up, yeah?” he mumbles, the vibrations rumbling through her.  “Don’t hide from me.”

“Be patient with me,” she breathes.  “I’m not good at this.”

“Whatever you need.  I’m here for you.”

“I know.”

He kisses her, slowly, deeply, his hand caressing her cheek, fingers carding her hair as she returns the kiss.  How long had it been, how long had they been so apart, together but not truly there?  Too long, far too long, and she wants nothing more than to be present for the rest, no matter how long, no matter how short.

She pulls off for air, the tickle of his mustache pushing at her lip, but she doesn’t stay far.  She leans into him, lets him hold her as close as he can.

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, whispers into her hair.  “And there’s no place I’d rather be.”


End file.
